Opposites Attract
by PotterHeadAndVeryVeryProud
Summary: Agnes Moone is determined to save a certain blonde haired boy from a terrible fate... Even if it means going against everything she believed true.


"**MOONE!"**

Blimey, it's remarkable how many times my surname can be howled in less than an hour. Seven times! I'm pretty dam sure that's my new record. I've _definitely_ beaten Fred and George, that's for sure.

This time it's a very angry looking blonde boy, emerging from a compartment billowing out purple smoke around the hinges. I dart around the corner, sadly not before his famous grey eyes lock with mine. Draco Malfoy.

I throw a grin over my shoulder and race down the carriage, scattering first years in my wake. It's probably one of the best idea's I've ever had: modifying several Decoy Detonators to make a foul smelling smoke with a few miniature Skrewts to keep the Slytherins company. I don't think they liked my thoughtfulness much, though.

Blast-Ended Skrewts are probably the foulest creatures I have _ever_ seen. Seriously. What is the point of their _existence_? Beats me.

"Agnes Moone, you wait _right_ there!"

Blimey, he's really slow. It's taken him about ten minutes to catch me up. Okay, that might be a _tiny_ exaggeration, but it feels like it. I trip over a stray pack of Self Shuffling Playing Cards and squeal, hands out, as I hit the floor. Malfoy grabs the back of my robes and yelps as he tumbles down after me, both of us trying to scramble to our feet.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" I snarl, trying to wriggle out of his grasp and find my wand at the same time. He hisses, clutching onto my robes tighter than ever and drags me up right, face contorted with fury. I stifle a giggle at the sight of him.

A faint aroma of bad smelling eggs makes my eyes water as I smirk, taking in the red gloop sticking to his blonde, almost white, hair; feathers attached to his robes. (Oh, I forgot about the feathers!) A stray Skrewt clutches to the bottom his trousers that he shakes off furiously, still glaring.

"Nice look," I raise an eyebrow and he scowls, gripping my wrist tightly and making my hand go numb.

"What. Did. You. Do?" He snarls through gritted teeth, breathing like a winded rhinoceros. I shake my arm away, smirking, and fold them across my chest.

"Well, Malfoy, it's _quite_ obvious," I wink, looking him up and down. "I obviously had to use _somebody_ to try out these." Grinning, I pull out a spare Decoy Detonator from my frayed satchel and wave it about dramatically. He growls, examining the object with a sour look.

"On us?"

"Obviously," I snort, flicking a feather of his shoulder. "It's a good look, actually, Malfoy. I'm sure Pansy will _love_ it."

His pale face flushes a nice, salmon pink as he scowls at me through his hair, grey eyes flashing.

"Detention, Mo-"

"You can't give me a detention, Malfoy," I chortle, taking a step away from him. He smirks broadly, his eyes reduced to slits, as he puffs out his chest. I raise an eyebrow, rolling my eyes.

"Yes?" I cough and he sighs, looking pointedly at the Prefect badge on his robes, smeared with red. Ah. Crap.

"That's right, Moone," He sneers at my forlorn expression. "Detention, tomorrow. At six. Don't be late, will you? I'd _hate_ to give you a_nother_," He drawls, spinning curtly on his heel and stalking back down the carriage. I gape after him, stunned. What a prize GIT!

Fuming, I walk back to my compartment like a stiff board, falling down into the unoccupied window seat next to Ron with a growl. He raises his eyebrows, grinning.

"Alright, Agnes?"

"No, I am bloody well _not_ alright," I scuff carpet with the cap of my shoe while they snigger. "Draco ruddy Malfoy is a-a _Prefect_," I clutch my chest dramatically and Hermione rolls her eyes from over the brim of her book.

"How did you find _that_ out?"

"I ran into him." I grin and she snorts, shaking her head. "Well, alright. I _had_ to use somebody to test these out on, didn't I?" I hold up the detonator and Ron eyes it, impressed. "But he gave me a detention!" I tug at my hair, probably looking a little mad, and they laugh.

"Dumbledore made him a Prefect?" Harry walks through the doors, cradling a heap of Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs. "Wh-why would he do _that_?"

"Beats me," I shrug, grabbing a pasty and chewing thoughtfully. "I mean, he's a _Slytherin_ and everything!"

"There's nothing wrong with Slytherin's, Agnes," Hermione says hotly, shutting her book with a snap. "All this-this _rivalry_, it's _stupid!"_

"No, it's not, Hermione," Ron rolls his eyes, taking a pasty, too. She frowns at us coldly.

"Yes, Ronald, it is."

"Hermione," I sigh, raking a hand through my hair, "it isn't. Most of them turn out to be Death Eaters, anyway. Do you want to be friends with people who worship the guy that killed Harry's parents? Do you?" I raise my eyebrows and she bites her lip, darting a look at Harry.

"I guess not…"

Me and Ron grin triumphantly, going back to scoff our faces with pastry. They may be rare, but we do love to outsmart Hermione. Very, _very_ much.

"How are the twins doing with the shop?" I cock my head to the side at Ron and he swallows down his bite of pasty, smiling.

"Alright... That's the understatement of the century, actually," He chuckles slightly and sighs. "It's bloody _brilliant_ in there, last time I went. Seriously."

Fred and George Weasley are masterminds. They truly are. It's kind of a bummer they left, really. They were practically my _brothers._ But, anyway, they left in the only way they would; with a bang.

"Hermione, what are you _doing_?" Harry gapes at the bushy haired girl, buried nose deep again in her book with parchment scattered around her. She looks a tad hysterical.

"Oh, blimey, Herm. You're not going through Third Year again, are you?" I snort and she glares, shuffling through the paper in her lap.

"It's called_ homework_," She says in an oddly high pitched voice. "I actually _want_ to do well in my N.E.W.T's, thank you very much."

"Hermione," Ron sounds aghast as he raises his eyebrows at her. "Hermione, we're in the middle of a _war._"

Well, that's technically incorrect. I mean, we _almost_ are. Ol' Voldies supporters are growing stronger by the minute, but hell to them! Harry's are too.

Before Hermione has the chance to probably tell Ron what I'm thinking, the train lurches to a stop, signalling the end of our journey.

Ah, yes. Hello Hogwarts!


End file.
